Whispers in Stone
by Bamfy
Summary: Jareth Helps unite two lovers seperated by the veil of death


Okay, here's a short story I started a long time ago. Some of you may remember that I sent the first part out to the list in early September, I think it was, and it was tentatively titled 'Come to Dust' I was asking for feed back on it, as to weather it would make a decent story. I got some good replies, and have actually had the finished draft written up for a while, but haven't had a chance to work on it due to my other projects, mainly "Witness to Destruction", but also some fic I do for other lists. Well, here we go, finally. I give you the finished version, now called "Whispers in Stone" Hope you enjoy. 

Whispers in Stone 

"All lovers young, all lovers must; consign to thee, and come to dust" -William Shakespeare 

The long hall was cold, and she shivered slightly as she began to walk towards the room at the other end. Her footsteps rang hollowly in the empty building, and the silence weighed heavily on her. Not as heavy though, she noted, as the sadness that encircled her heart and seemed to squeeze the life from her body. She wanted to stop, to collapse against the wall and surrender to her grief. What was the point in continuing, in torturing herself? "Give it up, a little voice in her head told her. "You don't need to see what is in that room, you know what is there. Surrender." She rebelled against the voice. "No!" she cried to the empty air, "I will not give in to despair. I won't let it consume me!" The senseless walls bounced her words back at her until it seemed a mocking laughter filled the empty hall. She ignored it and pressed on. The corridor seemed to stretch on endlessly before and behind her, though it was only a hundred yards or so. The still air stirred suddenly, as if some soft movement had caused it to come to life, ruffling her hair. Finally, she stood before the vast arch that led into the room. She gathered all her strength and stepped forward. She walked up to the monument at the center of the room and gazed down at it. "Hello, old friend." She said softly, looking at the finely chiseled face. Eyes closed in peaceful slumber, lips parted slightly. The likeness was perfect, even to the stray curl that lay on his brow, so that she had to resist the temptation to reach out and brush it away. "I miss you," she said simply, caressing the cool marble cheek with the back of her hand. "I would give the world, the sky, all the stars in Heaven, just to here your voice again. It' can't be, I know. All the power I posses isn't enough to bring you back, and it wasn't enough to save you then. I would that cold stone could become warm flesh. Alas, it cannot." A tear fell silently from her face, and landed just so, so that the marble itself seemed to be weeping. She watched it trail down his cheek, then wiped it away. "Don't cry for me. I'm the lucky one, remember?" 'I'm still alive' the air seemed to echo her thoughts. She took one last glance at the monument, knowing those chocolate-brown eyes would never open, those lips would never speak her name, and went back down the long hall. He was gone, and it broke her heart. There was nothing she could do now but come and talk to him. A part of her felt he still dwelt within the stone walls of this mausoleum, and she desperately wanted to believe it. A faint sound came to her from the room at the end of the hall. She turned and paused, much like a doe who has heard a twig snap in the woods, and strained her ears. Half-believing she had imagined it, she walked back to the tomb. There, on the cold stone face of her beloved, shimmered a single tear in the lingering rays of the setting sun, and the last whisper of her name echoing through the still air. ---- He watched silently from the shadows as she left the tomb. He had long watched this one, with her white skin and hair, her black eyes. There was so much potential in her, and he had watched it grow as she had. He had also watched as the young man, who's stone monument lay within, had waltzed away with her heart. When he had died, her precious hart had ceased to beat, and she had become cold and empty. He had often contemplated going to her, but it would have been for naught. He could not re-kindle her flame, so he watched with a heavy heart as she struggled against her sorrow bravely, and lost. Tonight though, tonight he had witnessed a miracle. He had seen the stone weep, heard it call her name. *he* could not make the stone live, but the power of love surpassed all other powers. There was nothing greater. Perhaps, it could even overcome the grave. He stepped into the quiet tomb, closed his eyes, and waited. In a moment, the air about him seemed to cool, and he was aware of a presence in front of him. He opened his eyes. There before him stood a young man of about the same hight as himself, with long curling dark hair, and deep brown eyes. "Then you *are* here." 

"I could never abandon her." 

"You torture her. You won't let her go." 

"No. I love her. That is what keeps me here." 

"Very well then. Why show yourself to me, and not her?" 

"It would break her heart." 

"Her heart is already broken." 

"It would kill her to see me like this, to be able to look upon me, but not touch me." He put his hand out to touch the pillar at his side, and it swept through the stone as if it were not there. 

"Then she will be with you." He was playing games now. Cruel, but a part of him clung to the vain hope he could still have her for his own. 

"No! I want her to live! That is why I did what I did, to give her a small ray of hope." 

"You torment her, but pay it no mind." Jareth said with a sweep of his hand. "You have convinced me of your motivations." 

"What concern is this of yours?" The ghostly man before him asked angrily. 

"I had, at one time, hoped to capture her for myself.. But even I cannot compete with true love." He shook his head sadly, wisps of golden hair glinting in the light of the moon that shone high overhead. 

"And?" The image began to waver slightly, so that he could almost see through it. 

"I care for her well-being. I can see that this is taxing you. Rest. I will come again tomorrow evening." As he watched, the form before him shimmered briefly, then vanished. Jareth left the tomb and returned to his castle. He had thinking to do. ---- She was in the tomb again, staring at her lover's face carved in the cold, unfeeling stone. "But this stone has moved, has wept and called my name. What miracle has transcended the grave to bring you back to me?" The stone did not reply. Something pulled at his heart as he watched her weep tenderly in the tomb. A feeling that hung there, that made him almost sick for it. He saw reflected in the power of her love, his failure. She departed the tomb once again, sans the healing elixir of hope, for the miracle of the night before had not repeated itself. Jareth entered the empty stone building, and waited until the young man appeared before him. 

"You have a plan?" 

"I watched her this evening, and I am certain this world holds no happiness for her. She will go slowly mad. But you can end her suffering, end your own. You only have to show yourself to her, to give her the choice." 

"I want her to live." 

"Is it better that she lives here in torment, or that she rests with you, in peace? Best decide, before she takes the decision from your hands. Her mind is in turmoil, she thinks only of death." The young man hung his head in grief. "Mourn not for her loss of life, she will live with you, forever." 

The young man nodded his accent. "What must I do?" 

"Only show yourself to her. I will do the rest." ---- Jareth took up his normal place outside the mausoleum the next twilight. The girl, hair silver in the moonlight, walked solemnly, and took up her ritual vigil. There was a sitting of the air in the tomb, though there was no wind that night. Out of the shadows coalesced the form of the young man. the two reunited lovers conversed in hushed tones, and he made no attempt to here their words, only saw the tears that streamed down both their faces, which glimmered in the wane light. He readied his magic. The young man held out his hand, and the girl took it as the magic charged the air around her, and she seemed to step out of herself. Then, with a rustle of the mysterious wind, the two vanished, leaving only her limp form on the cold floor, beyond all feeling. He went in, and, gathering her in his arms, a single tear slid down his own cheek. He had her monument built, a statue of the beautiful girl standing over the sleeping form of her stone lover, her hand gently caressing his face. He often stood there on nights when the moon was full and shown it's silver rays on the stone lovers within, when the wind seemed very much like laughter. It was on such a night, after a glimpse of what might have been their ghostly forms dancing in the dapple light of a grove of birches, as deathly in the light as they themselves were, that he made up his mind. the owl soared higher, determined to right a past wrong and regain a true love. 


End file.
